Lethal Starlight
by Vixen2004
Summary: Zexion X Namine. Because I got tired of pairing everyone with Kairi. And Namine’s got more spunk anyway. It all started with one simple fact: Namine can’t draw.
1. Chapter 1

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author's Note

I always wanted to write a Zexion fiction and thought pairing the albino up with someone would be quite interesting. I've had the idea of a Namine X Zexion fiction for a while, but sadly, Indigo Eyes beat me to it (in her story "One Page Left.") After crying helplessly for three days straight, I eventually regained enough composure to write one myself since, well, I felt like it. Previously intended to be a three parter, but I just couldn't see two people falling in love after a scant three meetings. So I lengthened it. Enjoy.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Zexion has just decided it's a fact: Namine can not draw.

The man is not impressed by much, but he is decidedly _un_impressed with his captive's lacking artistic skills. He prefers to remain neutral in most matters, for opinions simply require too much effort he doesn't feel is necessary to exert, but the girl's tiny stick figures have actually moved him to take a stance. It is a rare phenomenon, and he feels he should congratulate her on her skill; or lack thereof.

"I must say," he commences from across the room, voice habitually chilly and vacant; disposition characteristically introvert and conserved, "I am dually impressed." Namine's face rises from the pages of her sketchbook, visage donning genuine incredulity, for even if she is a naïve child by nature, she does not fall for every whim thrown upon her.

"You have no artistic ability whatsoever," Zexion concludes. He folds his arms after the fact and resumes his previous riveting activity of staring at the floor.

"And _I_ must say," Namine counters, placidly placing one hand over the other. "I, too, am dually impressed. For you lack benevolencey all together, and your insults..." she can not think of a suitable word, so she decides to go with one she heard Axel utilize some time ago, "...suck."

"It was not an insult, my dear Namine," Zexion mocks condescendingly, if one can give him credit for such an emotion, "it was a simple stated fact."

Namine's feet sway back and forth, hovering mere centimeters over the cold, alabaster floor in juvenile simplicity. "It's better that _you_ could ever do." She sticks her pale tongue out in mockery.

Zexion's eyes glisten in response to this challenge. "Do not tempt me, child," he warns. "For I do not take audacious dares out of the mouth of teenagers lightly."

"Yeah _huh_."

The man's nose visibly wrinkles in disdain to her melodic retort. His pale mouth sets in a firm line and he contemplates the pros and cons of engaging in such a trivial activity. There is nothing to be gained from this endeavor if he succeeds, yet his pride tells him that is not a primary concern.

"You insolent little brat," he resorts to condemning, though his voice is not without hints of amusement. Though he will never admit it, this is the most fun he has had in months.

"Larxene uses a different word that begins with b," Namine intones, proceeding with her primary scribbles. The digression is ignored.

"I do not tolerate insults well."

"Whaddya gonna do? _Bore_ me to death?"

The line that has taken place of Zexion's mouth sets deeper into his face.

"There are a great many horrible things I could do," he haughtily responds, examining his nails. "Do not tempt me."

"Puh-lease. You won't hurt me 'cuz you _need_ me." She looks up and locks eyes with the expressionless man. "So ha ha I win."

Zexion quirks a purple eyebrow.

"Fetch me a piece of paper," he orders, promptly deciding to take up the challenge.

"I'm not _fetching_ you anything. I'm not your dog, ya know."

"No, but you _are_ my prisoner," Zexion retaliates, waiting for her to begrudgingly oblige.

"Get your own piece of paper. Demyx gave these to _me_."

"And who supplied you with the crayons? Hm?"

Namine's brow furrows together. "...you," she reluctantly replies.

"I believe that settles this frivolous dispute, then. Give me a piece of paper or I will confiscate your crayons."

"You're a dork wad," Namine spits, tearing out a clean sheet of paper.

"Where did you learn that one? Xigbar?"

"No, it's what Axel calls Demyx."

"And what does Axel call you, I wonder?"

Namine's face goes blank.

"Jail Bait," she recalls innocently, not catching the innuendo laced within the term.

"Oh, that's _all_ we need," Zexion drawls out, the vocal equivalent of rolling his eyes since the action itself requires too much effort. "Axel's spawn running around the castle, wrecking havoc."

"You don't like kids?" Namine questions, handing the paper to her captor.

"I see no need to reproduce. And the recreational purposes are over rated."

Namine misses that last comment.

"Don't bash it 'till you've tried it," Axel abruptly sings from the nondescript threshold of the room, leaning against the frame for unnecessary support. The duo snaps to attention to evaluate the intruder. "Hey, Albino," the pyro petitions, nodding in the general direction of a rigidly lounging Zexion. "I'm here to relieve you of your shift." The man turns to Namine. "Hey there, Jail Bait."

"My name is Namine," the girl in question grumbles, knowing it's an effort in vain, but she makes an attempt regardless.

Zexion seems reluctant to move. His purpose here is not complete. But in the end, he resigns his post wordlessly over to the audacious red head and saunters out of the room.

"Oh, and by the way," he whispers in passing as Axel swaggers by. "I _have_ tried it; otherwise how would I have come to the conclusion that it's _over rated_?"

Axel quirks an eyebrow.

"Well, ya didn't do something right."

Zexion settles on glaring and moves on.

"Fri-_gid_," Axel sings in reference to Zexion as he approaches the sitting blond. "So Jail Bait, whatchya drawing there?"

"Larxene."

"She looks kinda anorexic."

"Of course she looks anorexic," Zexion mutters. "She's a _stick_ figure."

He then characteristically sulks out the door.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Author's Note

I think I made Namine a tad too saucy.

Though I find it hard to believe she would not pick up on _some_ snark after spending god knows how long being babysat by thirteen diabolical villains hell bent on galaxy domination.

And honestly: who thinks the girl can draw? She's, like, fourteen and she's still doodling stick figures with crayons while her somebody is off wielding daisy infested keyblades. (And can we see Square Enix's politically correct attempt at girl power, anyone?)

So, yeah, I gave her a slight attitude adjustment.

Comments? Suggestions? Awesome.


	2. Chapter 2

Zexion always has had trouble conversing with members of the female persuasion. They never quite understand what he is saying and he never cares enough to make them. At least, that was how it had always been before he died. After the fact, he only had Larxene to deal with, and she was not one for conversation anyway. Besides, Zexion had not failed to notice that she seemed to be developing a ridiculous infatuation with a certain undead pyromaniac and some love triangles are best to be kept out of.

Today, Namine is scribbling furiously at her sketchpad, pushing so hard on the wax crayons that a couple lay broken at her feet to prove as the tangible aftermath of her unrequited rage. As stated in the aforementioned, Zexion is unsure of how to handle this situation, for dealing with distraught little girls has never been one of his specialties. He is not consoling and he is not empathetic. He knows not what to do with himself as he lingers in the doorway, unaware of how to best approach her, or if the best battle tactic is simply to go and fetch Demyx to do his bidding. The sitar player is much better at dealing with the girl's..._trivial_...nonsense.

The man exudes a sigh and decides that he might as well humor himself in the meantime.

"May I ask as to why you are...ravishing your sketchbook?"

Namine looks up, face blotchy and red and tear stained.

"Because I'm pissed off!" she snaps, glaring vehemently.

Zexion decides that this is, indeed, fascinating (seeing as though the girl is hypothetically not able to feel any emotion) and wonders if she is an anomaly of some kind. Such things would require further research.

The schemer avoids any visual daggers that were thrown his way and proceeds to approach her, albeit cautiously, and even goes so far as to attempt conversation.

"And may I inquire as to why?"

"Because you all treat me like...like _crap_!"

Zexion's brow furrows in contemplation. "Define crap," he muses, commencing a lethargic pace in front of the girl's seating arrangement.

Namine startles at the preposition. "How do you define crap?" she grumbles, anger momentarily forgotten as she scrunches up her pale nose in utter confusion.

"With adjectives, preferably," the man answers, pacing to the far end of the room and collecting the chair that was usually used by whatever member happened to be baby sitting Namine at the time. He then sits down adjacent to the girl and leans back, awaiting her response.

"It's what you're doing right now," she snarls, another crayon falling victim to her murderous grip.

"I am not in the process of crapping," Zexion retorts. "I only pass feces while in the lavatory."

At this, Zexion falls witness to a very interesting display of watching a teenage girl try to smother her laugher so as not to ruin the otherwise seething moment. He cocks his head to one side and observes accordingly.

"No, not _literally_," Namine chokes out, biting down hard on her miniscule lower lip. "I was referring to the pathetic way that you...you..._organization_ members treat me. Like I'm some kind of experiment or something."

"Well, you are," Zexion bluntly offers, seeing no other way to answer her.

Namine responds by chucking her sketchbook on the ground with an unmerciful upper arm thrust. It skids across the immaculate floors and collides against one of the white, padded walls on the far corner.

"I'm a _person_!" she cries emphatically, her fists crunching up at her sides. "Not a thing! Not an experiment! Not an object!"

"You _used_ to be a person," Zexion corrects. "Now you are one of us."

"You don't treat me like one of you," she snips, crossing her arms over her chest.

Zexion pauses. "Would you like some new attire? If white does not suit you, I could arrange for you to be fitted for a black overcoat."

Namine grits her teeth. "Were you always this stupid?"

The man opens his mouth, but for the first time in a long time, he finds himself rendered speechless. No one has ever referred to him as such before; his intelligence was never mocked or belittled. People scarcely even took up the initiative to converse with him, let alone insult him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said were you always this alarmingly idiotic or did it just happen after you died?"

Zexion paused, unsure of how to answer such. "I am not much different from what I used to be," he responds slowly, racking his mind for a more plausible, substantial answer and finding none.

"Oh, so you were always a retard?"

His eyes narrow.

"I am not mentally challenged, if that is what you are referring to."

"Well you sure seem like it to me. You make even Axel look like a scholar in comparison."

This struck a chord, for Zexion was not fond of being compared, much less considered inferior, to the flame thrower when the flurry considered himself to be the right hand of God already.

"Axel is not a scholar," the man retaliates in an edgy tone that is rarely heard from him. "He scarcely finished high school. Something to do with off spring."

Namine raises an eyebrow. Zexion sees further elaboration is required.

"He tried to reproduce before society deemed it socially acceptable."

"Can't you just say he got someone pregnant?" Namine quipped, becoming visibly more irritated with the continuity of Zexion's overly elaborate speech.

"No, because I do not think that was his intention," he replied thoughtfully. "Though I suppose there is a small probability that it might have been. He was never known for his astounding foresight. We have not held many conversations about it."

"I doubt you've held conversations with anybody."

Zexion considers this for a moment. "Yes, I believe statistically speaking you are correct."

Namine didn't make a sound. She just silently broke another crayon.

"Stop it," she ordered through clenched teeth.

Zexion's spine became rigid. Usually a significant change in character presents itself before the enemy attacks. They usually become more agitated, or assume a fighting stance of some sort. For Namine perhaps this preliminary action is exemplified through vicious teeth clenching.

"Stop what?" he asks in honest confusion, for he is not one to derive pleasure out of purposefully irritating the girl. That was more of Larxene's avenue anyhow.

"Stop acting so...so cold and unaffected!"

"...I have no emotions to exude. What would you like me do?"

Namine abruptly stands up and marches over to the sitting man who, for the first time, actually looked as though he was registering a small look of surprise in response to Namine's actions.

"That's just what Xemnas tells you!" she hollers, her voice rising to a dangerously high decibel level as she flails her arms about wildly, almost as though she were on fire. She looks nothing more than skin and bones and not intimidating in the least, but Zexion somehow feels the innate reasoning that she is still a force to be reckoned with nonetheless.

"Axel apparently doesn't have emotions either, and he still makes an effort to be cordial! At least the man has some _personality_. He doesn't just sit there with a blank expression on his face and say nothing! Larxene may be a snitch but that's _something_. Demyx may be annoying but at least he takes the time to _be_ annoying! You...you just sit there and do nothing! At all!"

Sporadically, she leaps into action and actually lunges at Zexion. If he had not already been expecting a frontal assault of some sort, he may have jumped (out of surprise, not fear, for Namine does not provoke the memory of such an emotion.) Instead of knocking him off of his chair, like he was originally anticipating, the girl decides to spring upon him instead. She's on his lap now, punching him again and again and again. Not in the face, of course, but rather in his chest; his heart lacking chest. She's trying to fight and not cry, but it's an endeavor in vain. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she pummels away at the docile man in front of her.

Zexion does not know how to react at first, so he simply remains there and allows her to vent her anger through physical means. She does not hurt, so it is of no loss for him. He simply sits and stares, dumbfounded, at the display in front of him. There is nothing to say, nothing that she would hear let alone listen to anyway, so he opts to remain silent, which was always a strong suit of his, and let the storm pass and burn itself out.

It is shorter than expected, which now that Zexion thinks about it, is really no surprise. The blond is but a little thing, frail and thin and meager, and to expect her to put up a lengthy fight was highly unlikely. Her tooth pick arms eventually slow down and come to a halt. They hang lifelessly at her side, like two dead weights dragging her down. She slumps in Zexion's lap and lets her head collide, defeated, with his chest. All Zexion can see is the shine that radiates from the top of her head as she buries herself within the confines of his jacket. He is not used to this physical contact, for no one has ever touched him since he died, and he finds the warmth of another body soothing yet awkward at the same time. He does not know what to do with his hands, so his mimics the identical weights Namine has formed with her own arms and allows his to hang lifelessly to the side as well.

"Namine," he says, a note softer than usual, and this feat is not lost upon Namine, regardless of all her crying. Zexion has trouble finding words, which perplexes him slightly, if not alarms him, and he has to take a moment to articulate a coherent sentence. "Namine," he tries again, more forceful this time. "Why do you not pester Axel then if he amuses you so?"

Not as eloquent as he might have liked it to be, but it was something.

"Because...because..." the sniffing hinders the comprehension of the girl's words. "Because all the other members make fun of me! Even Axel; he treats me like a baby. Like I'm a puppy dog that he's...he's supposed to play with and then put back in its cage when he gets bored!"

"Well now, that has nothing to do with you," Zexion says, almost amusedly. "He treats everyone like that."

"I'm not a puppy dog!" Namine whines into the man's chest, voice muffled by the abundant fabric that makes up his overcoat. The protest is juvenile, and Zexion must remind himself he is dealing with a girl a mere fourteen years of age who has no memories of her past life whatsoever. Expecting her to speak with the expertise that comes from years of experience is not a fair standard to hold her to on his part.

"You're the only one who..."

Zexion leans forward, trying to catch the snippets of audio wavering up to his ears. He is not trying to be comforting—much less romantic—he is simply trying to further his chances of hearing better. But it just so happens his head ends up on top of hers and he can't help but notice her aroma strikes an alarming similarity to that of a fresh batch of roses.

"You're the only one who doesn't make fun of me."

Zexion can think of nothing to say, so he remains silent.

"You just threaten me," she adds, almost in a bemused tone, at least when compared to the previous intonations she was utilizing beforehand.

"I do not _just_ threaten you," Zexion retorts, almost as if he was offended with the previous accusation. "I threaten you and then proceed to torture you."

Namine giggles, convulsing slightly in his lap.

"You never carry it out though."

The man twitches, and Namine feels the movement under her form.

"I could if I wanted to," he mumbles, almost as if he were sulking.

Namine responds by giggling again.

For some reason, when she giggles into his chest it almost feels as though he has a pulse again.

There is a lull between the two, and Namine shifts uncomfortably in Zexion's lap. She seems to abort her fetal position and crane her neck so she can meet Zexion's steel cold eyes with her own crystal pools of blue. She sits back on her knees, which a seasoned fighter such as Zexion has no trouble supporting, and stares at him for a moment before averting her vision to the floor.

"Marluxia called me worthless the other day."

The comment is whispered, frail and delicate as it floats from her mouth and rests between the two. It hangs in the air for a minute, hovering in between them, and Zexion finally feels this situation calls for a reply of some kind.

"You are not worthless."

His tone is softer than usual, much softer than Namine has ever heard it before, especially when directed at her, and it is almost enough to make her regain eye contact. Almost.

When she doesn't, Zexion lifts one of his arms from his side and gently places a finger under her chin. He can not feel her, for he is wearing gloves, but he imagines she must feel like something of the porcelain variety, if only porcelain could be warm.

"Look at me," he demands, though it isn't coarse or even firm.

Namine continues to stare blankly at the floor.

"I said look at me." Zexion pauses, again uncertain. "That's an order," he adds, trying to make himself sound more intimidating than he really is.

When he sees Namine's head begin to shift, he subconsciously begins to help her along by pressing her chin in the right direction with his finger. Eye contact is finally maintained, and Namine is again staring at him.

"You are not worthless," he says sternly. He has stated the truth and he expects no further augments. He is obviously not used to dealing with self conscious teenage girls.

Namine's eyes light up for a moment. They slowly flicker to life and her lips begin to tug at what could very well be the beginning of a smile.

"Really?" she asks, voice high and hopeful.

"Really," Zexion confirms with a swift nod of his head. "We need you to help us take over the worlds."

There is a silence that plummets down upon the two, and it remains there until the air between them almost grows stagnant.

"What?" Namine whispers hoarsely. Her brow has reverted to its previous furrowed position and her eyes have gone cold.

"I said we need you to help us help take over the worlds," he repeated, assuming she didn't hear correctly. He can not understand why she is upset. He had stated the truth. It affirmed that she was not, indeed, useless. This should please her. Not make her discontent.

Namine responds by punching him in the chest again.

This time she only does so once, and immediately after the cuff she tears herself off his lap and stomps back over to her chair. She crosses her arms and turns away from Zexion, facing the opposite wall so all the man can see is her tremulous white back.

"Well what did you want me to say?" Zexion muses out loud.

"You _are_ a retard," Namine reiterates through some strangely paced gasps that Zexion can only assume she is inhaling to prevent in the action of crying. "You suck with emotions, you do know that, right?"

Zexion rolls his eyes at the all too familiar topic.

"We have already discussed this, Namine. I do not _have_ any emotions."

Namine remains silent.

This time it is Demyx who is at the door waiting for someone to acknowledge him. Zexion eventually performs the feat, and simply nods, for he does not particularly enjoy engaging in conversation with the sitar player. He finds him rather irksome, actually. Why the Superior insisted on keeping him around was beyond him.

"Hey there Baby Doll, what's wrong?"

Demyx sounds as though there is genuine concern in his voice, though even Zexion can't help but note the underlying patronizing tone that bellies the more dominate emotion.

Demyx does not wait for an invitation, for Zexion has no intentions of giving him one, and he watches coldly as the amiable man in front of him swaggers over and squats down next to Namine.

"Aw, don't cry. Demyx is here!"

Namine refuses to acknowledge the comment. Zexion doesn't blame her. It certainly isn't what he'd refer to as comforting. If anything, were he in her position, just the knowledge of knowing they'd be spending the next couple hours together would be enough to make him cry.

"Hey, I know what we can do!" the teenager continues to state over excitedly, as though he was conversing with a kindergarten class. "How about Demyx helps you out with some story time?"

"I'm not five, Demyx," Namine snaps, wiping her nose on the back of her hand and looking him straight in the eye.

"Well, yeah...yeah, I knew that."

"So stop treating me like a baby."

"...but you used to like story time!" the boy persists, his brow shooting up in persuasion.

"Maybe I'm beginning to grow up," Namine says, making the delivery much kinder than it could have been.

Demyx's eyes seem to falter at this new dawning of realization, and he is at a loss of what to do with himself. "Well, Baby Doll, what would you like us to do?"

Namine has no ready answer.

_It's a white, square room,_ Zexion thinks to himself. _The hell IS there to do_?

"How about Demyx teaches you how to play his sitar!"

It was a good initial idea, but the character with which Demyx presents it takes away the luster from the original notion.

Zexion heaves a heavy sigh and begins his characteristically melodramatic departure. But his melodrama is so common place no one takes heed of it anymore.

"Stop referring to yourself in the third person," Zexion commands after his back is turned and he can no longer see the duo. "It is unbelievably annoying."

He hopes his tip was enough to make it so Namine would spare the sitar player his second life, since Xemnas already claimed the first.

And with his orders still resonating off the cold, white walls, he once again makes his dramatic exit and disappears into the convoluted corridors of the darkness he originated from.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Author's Note

Okay, so I TRIED to make Namine a little more juvenile in this chapter and a little less saucy.

I totally had her chuck her sketchbook across the room. (And what teenage girl doesn't go through that phase where she thinks throwing her random house hold objects around will solve all the world's problems?)

I also had her burst out in the typical crocodile tears every female has fallen victim to the minute they are verbally assaulted. We usually proceed to then hide in the bathroom.

I also had her whine a little. And she totally spazzes at Demyx.

And for those of you with perverted minds, no, she was not _straddling_ Zexion. It was a fetal position, cradled up against his side, and then she was leaning back on her knees.

(Smack.)

Return from the gutter. It's smelly down there.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note

Through out this chapter, you will inevitably encounter the theme and most of you, more likely than not, will be wondering where the heck I am going with this. Rest assured, I can explain. That being said, on with the show.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He didn't mean to lose the bet, he _didn't_. But ultimately he did, of course, find himself the loser of the aforementioned and therefore was spending his evening babysitting a certain vivacious blond instead of laboring away over his current theory of ultimate destruction.

Not that one can really bet on rock, paper, scissors, but it was a proposal formed by Luxord, and that man would gamble on his very own mother's grave if given the chance.

Zexion saw the equal probability for each outcome and decided to go with scissors, not because he had some infatuation with sharp, pointy objects for self destructive reasons, but rather because scissors are the most practical.

He, of course, lost and was now on his way to Namine's painfully white room complete with wall paintings of anorexic looking stick figures.

The man enters the room in a half dazed state, his mind still trying to iron out the reasoning behind Luxord's victory.

Zexion's attention is averted once he hears a lengthy list of vilifications pour out of a distinctively female mouth in the far corner of the room.

The odds of the supplier being Namine are slim, for the girl's vocabulary is not that extensive (she prefers to communicate through physical means, anyway) so Zexion is left to assume it is Larxene through process of elimination.

"...and you do know what happens if you keep it in too long, right? You get toxic shock syndrome and then you _die_."

"...you mean, again?" Namine, apparently, suggests hopefully.

Zexion clears his throat pointedly so Larxene knows he is there.

She turns and he notes that Larxene is actually smiling for once—and this confuses him further.

Nothing today is making any statistical sense.

"Have fun," she smirks, eyes gleaming with hidden amusement as she saunters out of the room leaving a vibe of destruction in her wake.

Zexion decides he does not like her.

Namine is sitting on the bed, clutching a box of some sort desperately to her not yet developed chest, almost as if the containments in the aforementioned box were a bomb that will detonate the minute she lets go.

"Do I not provoke salutations of some sort?" Zexion inquires, half expecting Namine to bombard him with some such nonsense he does not fully comprehend.

"I think you should close the door, Zexion," Namine says timidly, staring at her continuously swaying feet. Zexion does as suggested, even though he despises taking orders. Something made him feel that Namine knew more than he did at the current moment, and it was making him uneasy.

"Executed," he confirms, dragging a metal, nondescript chair across the floor and situating it directly across from Namine. "Now, do you have anything of dire importance to lavish me with?"

Silence.

"Zexion, I got my period."

Continued silence.

"I'm sorry, come again?"

"My period, Zexion. I got my period."

The man's face remains neutral. He blinks a couple times and nothing more.

Namine's eyes flatten simultaneously. "My sentence ender, you moron."

"I am afraid I am not comprehending—"

"_She's bleeding between the legs Zexion_!" Larxene shouts through the closed door.

Namine winces in response. After her hands have migrated to her forehead, she offers a meager, "I hate her."

Zexion is unsure of how to proceed. "You are...menstruating?"

"Um, I think so." Unscripted fiddling is inserted here. "Larxene told me I had internal bleeding and I was going to die, and after I hyperventilated she told me she was kidding and I should go out and get plastered because I had finally entered the world of womanhood."

"You now have the ability to procreate offspring," Zexion explains, trying to maintain placid though it is hard and he can not figure out why his temperature is rising if he apparently has no blood. Larxene complained about her monthly cramping all the time. It was practically a ritual. And now that he was faced with the same dilemma concerning Namine, he found himself trying to mold a thick wad of sandpaper around in his mouth that used to be a tongue but he can't be sure.

"I can get pregnant," Namine repeats. "Yeah, I got that when Larxene told me I'd have to stop sleeping with all my captors."

"We'd be fired if we slept on the job," Zexion mutters off hand. "We can't watch you if we're in the process of sleeping."

Namine looks as though she is about to cry. Again.

"I provoke that reaction a lot from you, don't I?"

Namine bites her lip. "I'm so confused!" she finally plummets forth with. The flood gates have now opened and an onslaught of hysterical tears are pouring forth. "I...I just went to the bathroom while Larxene happened to be on watch and and...and I told her what I found and she started screaming about hemorrhaging and emergency surgery and the underworld coming up from the depths of oblivion to claim my black as soot soul and then she started to laugh hysterically and told me about toxic shock syndrome and I have no one to turn to because everyone always laughs at me and the only female is a sadistic psycho snitch who hates my guts and I don't know what to do because it's not like Xemnas has extra tampons just lying around and I doubt he's up for a tutorial and—"

Zexion hears one word and one word only. "Tampons?"

"...yes Zexion, tampons," Namine clarifies, sniveling something fierce as she tries to maintain her composure. She is failing. "Larxene was kind enough to inform me of...these..." she trails off, indicating the box. "Oh, Zexion, you have to help me! I don't know what to do! And everyone is just going to laugh at me!"

Zexion is still trying to work his mind around the new word he had just previously become acquainted with. "...tampons?"

"These things!" Namine cries, exasperated. She waves the box around for emphasis. "I thought you were smart!"

"...I am not a female," he retaliates with. "Nor did I have many interactions with ones."

Namine continues to stare blankly at him, like a piece of paper in her sketchbook she has yet to draw on.

"I attended an all male boarding school in my previous life," he explains, still fighting his temperature even though he won't admit it is happening. "And I am an only child. I know not of these tampons you speak of. They were always referred to as female hygienic napkins where I came from."

Namine emits a shaky sigh.

"Help me."

And it is so pitiful and so desperate and so helpless that Zexion can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the girl even though he is not really supposed to. He may not know what it is she is currently speaking of, but he was always a fast learner and these tampons could be not more difficult than tackling a complex physics problem. Besides, though he was unaware it was happening at the time, his ego was beginning to swell, and when a helpless blond whimpers 'help me' to any estranged male within her proximity, testosterone predictably starts pumping and every man has to prove that he is the one that is ultimately capable of saving her.

"We shall tackle this problem head on," Zexion decides, voice full of authority he is really in no position to exude. "Now go to the bathroom and prep."

Namine grabs the box in her white knuckled fist and leaves the small pamphlet of directions on the bed. "I already looked at them," she explains. "You may...need them." She then waddles over to her personal bathroom, towel wrapped precariously around her reedy waist. She closes the door behind her and Zexion can hear rustling going on behind the wooden frame.

He cautiously picks up the pamphlet with his index finger and thumb, almost as though it is a fiend that will turn and bite him, and gingerly opens to the first page. He, of course, has had general sexual education, he has even participated in the activity willingly, but the mysteries of womanhood remained just that: mysteries. It was something he never saw himself coming in contact with in the near future, especially with being dead.

He studies the appropriate diagram accordingly.

"Namine," he proffers. "This is simplistic."

He hears something incoherent from behind the door. He assumes it is none the complimentary piece and he is correct.

"You just insert—"

"I _know_ how to do it, okay? I just can't..._do_ it!"

Zexion pauses. "I think it is best I not help you with this part."

"You pervert!"

She does not realize Zexion is actually unintentionally blabbering out of nerves and has no reign of what is currently coming out of his mouth.

"I just don't see what the problem is," he continues, unaware even of himself and his ramblings. "It's like parenthesis in a math equation; you just stick the variable in there!"

Silence.

"You know that crying face I do sometimes when you're around?"

"I believe so, yes."

"I'm doing it right now."

"But..._why_? Namine, you are being childish, do not make me go and fetch Demyx."

"Do you have no concept of how hard this is for me?!" Namine snips in a deadly vitriolic tone that practically burns Zexion's ears in passing. "Think of some foreign objects rear ending you!"

"I would rather not, if that is alright with you."

"No, it's _not_ alright with me Zexion! You are not helping!"

"Well, what do you wish for me to do?"

"...I...I don't know! That's your job to figure out! I'm a little preoccupied at the moment!"

"Well so am I," Zexion mutters. "I've never seen half these cross sections before."

"Yes," Namine dead pans. "The human body is an amazing thing. Now can you please stop appreciating the female anatomy of the instruction manual and think up some clever euphuism so I can go through with this?"

"I already supplied the math equation—"

"One that is _not_ creepy and insane?"

Zexion is not trained in this.

There is a moment of silence, which is becoming nigh predictable, and a sigh is emitted from the other side of the door.

"Zexion, has there ever been a time in your life where you've been really, really scared?"

Zexion places the pamphlet down. He already knows it will be of no further help. In fact, he knew that before he picked the stupid thing up. He was avoiding the obvious, which was never a specialty of his, but when it comes to the emotions he is no longer supposed to have he imagines it is a grey area for almost any member in the Organization.

"Yes," he admits, his voice faltering. "I imagine there is a time like that in everyone's life, at one point or another."

"Well, imagine having to live through that moment again!"

Zexion's brow furrows. "No thank you," he responds, and Namine is about to chide him for it, but she is able to pick up on the vulnerability laden within his voice and opts not to press him on something he was obviously being clandestine about.

"I was scared once," she offers, trying to attempt some bonding. It was a difficult feat, what through the door and all, but with Zexion, it may be better that way. "Well," she continues, "I guess it was really Kairi that was scared...that was my name, by the way, back when I was somebody."

"So I have been told."

"She...I...lived on a beach. I forget what it was called. I forget a lot of things, really, except my name. We really liked the beach, too," Namine interjects, voice floating over the threshold of the door. "I don't really know how much of it was her thinking and how much of it was me, or if right now she has a different nobody living inside of her waiting for her to die a second time, but I do know that I was very fond of the water."

Zexion shifts in his chair. This serves no relative purpose; this conversation at hand, but he allows it to continue regardless. It may be pointless, but there is some part of him that is enjoying listening to somebody talk, somebody who is gentle and kind, someone who isn't hell bent on destroying the world. He is not familiar with how to make pleasantries, so he simply sits back and listens.

"Anyway, we...well, she...was swimming one day, and she forgot to wait twenty minutes after eating her tuna sandwich before going in the water. Isn't that funny, Zexion? I can't remember where I used to live but I remember what kind of sandwich she was eating. Anyway, I would have waited the twenty minutes, it's not like the ocean was _going_ anywhere, but I guess I didn't have any say in the matter, now did I? It's all hazy, really, I can't remember if I had a say in anything back then."

"I did," Zexion recalls absent mindedly.

Namine waits for further elaboration, and upon hearing none, continues.

"She started to swim out into the ocean, and I don't know why she was swimming alone to begin with, but she was. And all I remember is this excruciating pain in our side, like the kind that makes you double over, the kind that makes you incapable of moving—"

"A cramp," Zexion offers subconsciously.

"Yes Zexion, I _know_ it's called a cramp," Namine dead pans, yet again. "I was trying to tell a story." Zexion thinks he hears a face palm from behind the door. "Anyhow, she fell under the surface of the water, and she couldn't get back up. I don't know if I was feeling her fear or my own, maybe both, but it was a very surreal experience knowing you are about to die."

Zexion remains quiet.

"And right before she blacked out, after the panic and the frantic paddling and the gasping for breath and only ingesting water, after the convulsing and the neck clutching and spontaneous leg kicking, I remember it being very calm. Tranquil, almost. Like we were finally at peace. I felt myself departing, I guess I was staring to materialize here, but right before I finished, I remember being pulled back to my previous reality, the one as Kairi, as someone pounded on her chest and begged her to wake up." Namine sighed. "I don't know his name, but I remember he had silver hair. Apparently he dragged us...her...out of the ocean just in time. He was crying a lot, I guess he thought she was dead, and I remember the tears looking oddly out of place on him. Like he was too old to cry. Men don't cry, do they Zexion?"

"They are not supposed to," he confirms.

"Do you cry?"

There is a momentary pause of silence.

"Why would I cry?" he finally came back with. "I am incapable of feeling sad."

"Did you use to?"

Again, Zexion opts not to say anything.

"Namine, a tampon will not kill you," he resorts to remarking. "And if you have experienced a near death experience before...I believe you had to have experienced a _death_ experience to be here in the first place...well, then, what can a piece of plastic do to you?"

Namine giggles. He made a good point. "It's actually more than just plastic," she notes curiously. "Oopsies. Um, Zexion, I broke it. Can I have another one?"

Zexion looks over his shoulder skeptically. "How did you manage to break a tampon?"

"I was fiddling with it and I popped the top out."

Zexion does not understand and he determines it is better that way.

"You are wasting our rations," he grumbles, walking over and picking up the box Namine left outside the bathroom door. Instead of picking one out, he hands her the entire unit, contents and all, and looks modestly at the floor when Namine cracks the door open and emerges with her twig like arm to devour the box whole.

"Oh be quiet," she huffs, locking the door behind her even though Zexion has no desire to go in. "Um, Zexy?" Namine begins, voice high and fragile. "Do you mind stepping outside so I can be alone for a minute? I can't do this with you standing there."

Silence.

"Only if you do not refer to me as Zexy ever again."

"...why? I like it. I think it's cute!"

"I think you are mentally deranged."

"Door, Zexion," Namine orders, all business like, and again Zexion finds himself obeying orders issued by his prisoner.

He leaves the room and steps outside for a minute. The hallway is vacant and he is unaware of how long he should give her. He is not used to this kind of thing.

Of course, as his luck would have it, Axel had picked the impeccable timing of now to be waltzing down the halls in that dreadfully annoying swagger that Zexion detests so. The young man averts eye contact, hoping the passing will go by without confrontation, but of course that is impossible when dealing with Axel, for Zexion is fairly certain the man could make conversation with a wooden wall if he had to, and he immediately finds himself being inquired as to why he is standing outside of Namine's room when he is supposed to be watching her.

"She's...defecating," Zexion lies. He is a horrible liar and he knows it, but Axel was never known for his astuteness. In fact, it is rather the opposite.

"They make doors for that," Axel retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, really man, why are you out here?" Silence. Nothing. Axel begins to snicker. "What, did Namine get her period or something?" The man laughs at his own joke. "Kidding. That's what Larxene claims. But we all know she's just being an attention whore like usual and lying. Namine is like, what, ten? There's no way in hell she'd ever get her period." There was another pause. "Then again, if she did, you gotta admit, even someone as frigid as you would find that amusing."

Zexion's left eye twitches, and he finds that odd for he can not remember the last time he did that while dead.

"And so what if she did get it, Axel?" he hisses. "Why do we need to mock her for it?" Axel can not tell if this is meant to be rhetorical, so he opts to say nothing. This in and of itself is an odd enough feat worthy enough of comment, but even stranger still is the fact that Zexion is turning a rather ghastly shade of white, and even if his complexion is pale by nature, seeing it become transparent was enough to shut any member up. "Why do we need to call her immature when we're all standing around and picking on a tiny little girl for enjoyment?" Again, no reply. "It's a fact of life, and last time I checked, that's probably how we all got here. Every female alive eventually begins to shed her lining, and I do not see why such a normal feat amuses you so."

Number Eight is taken aback by the unwarranted response, but he finds such things entertaining, so he pursues the matter.

"Easily amused?" he suggests. "Hey man, I'm not the only one. You can't tell me you wouldn't be able to repress a bull's eye comment or two the minute she turned around—"

"Do you think women are capable of hiding their unappeasing moments forever?" Zexion demands, seething through his teeth. "Nobody is perfect looking all the time. Half of what you see on most females is a mere façade anyway." He pauses, his mind viciously working in overdrive, then continues. "Oh, and here's some news for you. Guess what? Your future girlfriend is, at one point or another, going to flatulate in front of you too! Is that romantic? Is that attractive? No, but you can't expect someone to hold reign on their intestines forever. _People aren't always pretty, Axel_. I would think you have burnt enough victims to figure that one out."

Silence. Axel attempts to breathe.

"Whoa, Zexion, calm down. I was just kidding around."

"Tch," Zexion exhales, pushing him away. "Grow _up_."

He then walks back into the room, closing the door firmly in Axel's face.

He finds Namine sitting on the bed, smiling. Her hands are folded in her lap and she is swaying slightly from side to side, swelling with pride. "I did it," she announces.

And at this, Zexion smiles. Not because of the feat itself, for that was be slightly creepy, but because Namine looked so happy and he knows that he has played a very small part in that.

"I would congratulate you, except that seems slightly—"

"Don't," Namine cut in. "That _is_ slightly wrong."

Unaware of what to do with himself, he chooses to sit down next to her.

"Well, you were able to conquer your fear," he notes, staring at the floor, for while he is notorious for his icy stare that he can transfix on anybody, he finds it much easier to avert eye contact when it comes to dealing with Namine for he fears she can see too much of him when he looks at her.

"That's only because you told me it was just a piece of plastic," she mutters.

"You were not aware of that?"

"...Zexion. I was trying to compliment you."

"Oh."

They sit there for a moment in silence. But it is a comfortable silence. Not an awkward one. They are simply just being, and they are alright with that.

The moment is interrupted by a harsh knock on the door and the chiseled face of Xaldin appearing under the threshold. Namine's eyes bulge when she realizes, had Zexion not come to her aid when he did, she would be dealing with the previous matter under the tutelage of Xaldin, and that would be intimidating to say the least.

Zexion sees that it is his turn to leave, so he gets up to depart.

No words are passed between the two members as they nod to each other in passing. Neither are blessed with articulation skills, though one is beginning to learn.

As he exits the room, he hears Namine call out, "Bye Zexion!"

He pauses, turns, and gives her a swift nod of his head.

Her visage changes from that of juvenile simplicity to graven solemn tones and she returns the masculine nod with one of her own. It is amusing, and Zexion finds himself smirking in response, but he turns around before she can see it.

He finds himself returning to his quarters not really all that upset he lost the rocks, paper, and scissors game.

o-o-o-o-o

Author's Note

Was inspired to do this chapter while in the hospital. Bodily fluids are rampant in health care facilities, but that doesn't make the patients any less human. And agape runs deeper than hot, steamy, rampant monkey sex last time I checked. So while this came out of left field, I still think it's still allowed to stay in the ball park.

Also, I feel the need to point out I do not write simply for reviews. I never have and I never will. I'm conversational, not desperate.

I wanted to thank you all for taking the time for being as benevolent as you have been with adding this to various favorites/alert lists and sharing your opinions on the story in general. I am humbled by your kindness and appreciate every one of you, reviewer or not. Thank you for taking the time to simply look at my work. It means a lot to me. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note

And the reason this update took so long was because I was busy revamping the former chapters. Nothing major, mostly just thinned out some of my commentary. And added a little content to the story. At any rate. On with the show.

o-o-o-o

Zexion was not expecting to come back from the mission to find Namine wearing eyeliner, gash red lipstick, and enough blush to be mistaken as a whore with a third degree burn parading across her face. In fact, he is not really certain of what he expected. He has the tendency to forget Namine is not just a porcelain doll that scribbles in destitute and isolation, a quaint picture of a girl who sits in a chair with a pasty complexion and the dewy eyed stare of a spring born fawn. No, he most certainly forgets she is a maturing teenage woman, locked alone with her hormones and sketch pad and the influence of twelve other diabolical villains of mass destruction. How long can a girl like that be satisfied with listening to the lush tales of others? How long before she years for one of her own?

Not that the answer can be found in a makeup pallet, but Namine seems to think so, as is fairly evident by her current visage and newly shrunken, thigh hugging dress.

"...Were you recently tortured in some way I was not aware of?" Zexion questions upon entering the room for the first time in two and a half weeks, somewhat anxious to see Namine again after the prolonged absence, more so than he will ever admit, out loud or otherwise.

He was hurrying down the hallway to release Leaxeus of his shift, of course.

"Hmm?" Namine intones, looking up from her typically ravished paper. Her usually vacant eyes lit up with an internal light once they fluttered to Zexion's countenance. A smile spread across her face, making her teeth look like loose chiclets in her mouth due to the abundant amounts of red lipstick, and she began to rise in salutations.

Zexion cut the greeting off at the legs with a swift nod of his head as opposed to more cordial means.

Namine, realizing with an abrupt start that she had once again crossed the line between captor and friend, stops her procession and returns the nod with one of her own. She then resumes her seat across from him and proceeds to continue scribbling. But she can not repress the smirk still tugging at the corners of her lips. She is happy to have him back and she knows it.

"I trust you behaved yourself in my absence," Zexion implored in his typical domineering manner, pulling up a chair with characteristic torpor and sitting directly in front of Namine.

He notes that Namine's feet are subconsciously swinging back and forth again.

Yes. Namine's white pump wearing feet.

Since when did she advocate the use of pumps?

"Of course Zexy."

"Zex_ion_," comes the heated correction. "-_ion_."

"Whatever you say, Zexy."

So perhaps the term 'woman' was too strong of a word.

"Is there a reason your dress ceases to...fit?"

Namine looks up again, this time face donning an expression of confusion.

"I don't understand the question."

"You appear as though you are wearing a napkin."

Silence.

"I had Demyx shrink my dress."

"Yes, I can see that," Zexion retorts. "But why?"

"...Um, I'm getting fatter," Namine finishes lamely, avoiding eye contact, though it is an unnecessary precaution for Zexion can already tell she is lying.

"Your legs look like match sticks," he dead pans. "Where, exactly, are you beginning to develop fat?"

"My, uh, stomach and stuff."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah huh."

"If you are beginning to increase in size, then why did you implore Demyx to shrink your dress as oppose to stretch it?"

There was a silence that followed the previous inquisition.

"Shut up."

Zexion smirked outwardly at this one.

"Was that synonymous with, 'why yes, Zexion, you are correct, and I beseech thee?'"

"No. That was a shut up."

Zexion's smirk quickly faded into that of a line of confusion.

"Do you emanate this much bravado in front of all the other members, or just the ones with a penchant for letting you get away with things?"

Namine blinks a couple times in rapid succession. Too many words, too much make up. Try as she may, she was still the little snot ridden booger Zexion had left behind in his latest epic quest to over take nondescript world number one twenty seven in a myriad of cruel and unusual ways. She may be donning more rouge than clothing, but he still held the upper hand and this puts him at ease. Upper hands are all he has ever had, since turning around and throwing a punch has never gone well for him.

At this Namine gets up and attempts to...saunter...over to where Zexion is sitting.

"What are you doing?" he demands, almost as though he really does believe her to be a threat. And in some ways, she is. More so than the strapping Xaldin or the plotting Xemnas or the hot headed Axel. More so than the diabolical Marluxia or the sturdy Leaxeus or the knifing Xigbar. More destruction could be brought about by the pen of a lanky teenage girl, so white and so pale and so virtuous she almost hurts to look at, then any of the other twelve members that made up the Organization. "Why are you increasing your proximity? You can not sit on my lap unless you are in the process of crying."

"Who says—"

And with that Namine takes a nose dive and becomes personally acquainted with the white marble floors Xemnas had installed for her bedroom some six months ago.

"Shoes don't do you much good, Namine, if you can not walk in them."

"...but they made my legs look longer..." comes the muffled pleas of a dawning woman, just beginning to grasp the concept of balancing aesthetics with physics in one fell swoop. She is now sprawled out in an unbecoming position on the floor of her quarters,

a poster child for fashion gone bad.

"They make for absolutely preposterous fighting apparel," Zexion drones on, watching as Namine tries to scamper to her feet in a too tight, too short dress she can barely maneuver in. "Even Larxene ceases to wear stilettos on the battle field. And for someone like her to—" and then it dawns on Zexion. It dawns on him with such startling clarity that he can not believe he missed such an observation in the first place. "Namine," he asks, voice quieter than usual because his mind is busy processing things ten steps ahead of him. "Where did you acquire those pumps anyway?"

Namine tries to tossel her hair back with a nonchalance that can only be acquired through age, and she is not old enough to have obtained it yet.

"And the make up?" Zexion presses. "The rouge and the lipstick and the mascara...where did all this _come_ from?"

Namine clamors back into her seat, her gait unsteady and wavering, almost as if she were a drunken sailor ready to go clubbing. Or, perhaps a drunken sailor who had _already_ done some serious clubbing and was trying to make his way home.

Namine lets a few beats pass before responding, "Marluxia."

Words are not capable of describing the look of pure, undiluted horror that graces the milky sheen of Zexion's features at that precise moment.

"...I'm kidding," Namine adds precociously, reveling in the fact that she can still throw the schemer off guard occasionally.

Zexion swallows and attempts to respond, but it is in vain, for any well respecting man deserves a minute's worth of reprieve after nearly discovering one of his evil henchmen coworkers likes to dress in drag. Or, perhaps, _is_ dressing in drag.

"Did Larxene say something to you?"

And at this Namine subconsciously snarls, not at the question itself, but at the fact that, even after a two week absence, Zexion still possessed the innate ability to read her _so darn well_, through make up and dresses and pumps and all, and there is nothing she can do to hide any part of her from him. Yet, at the same time, he had perfected avoiding questions and dodging conversations to the point where it almost became an art form, and an intriguing one at that. So why did she have to work so hard to crack open his emotions that were so protectively volted away while all he had to do is take one look at her face and he would be able to tell exactly what was floating around in her little hallow head?

It wasn't fair.

"What makes you think that?" Namine asks, in her own attempt to be cryptic. It fails, for Zexion can see right through it, even with his eyes closed, and he just sighs in agitation.

"I'm ordering you a new dress," he finishes, leaving no room for debate. It is not an option, it is a fact, and he will carry it out accordingly.

"What about fitting me for a new trench coat?" Namine teases, half serious half not. "That'll be cool."

Zexion's eye screws up something funny and Namine has to try and not giggle while looking at it.

"I was not serious about that."

"Yes you were."

"I was not."

"Yeah _huh_."

"Namine, we are not having this discussion."

A pause.

"Why?"

"Because—" and at this Zexion stops. Why does he have to explain himself to the prisoner? "Because I said so, that is why."

"You've been a flippin' scientist for twenty one years and you mean to tell me that's the best answer you can come up with?"

Zexion is not used to being challenged. And while he suspects such a feat should irritate him, it does not. In fact, he finds it refreshing. Refreshing in the fact someone is taking enough time to challenge him in the first place.

"What does having been a scientist have to do with the dress code?"

"...there's a code now?" Namine all but squeals. "You make it sound like an epidemic!"

Zexion gets that look on his face, that look that warns Namine that he is about to launch off into one of his scientific dissertations concerning the literal meaning of something she said that was meant to be taken figuratively, and she finds her suspicions are proven correct when he predictably begins, "Epidemics are caused by viruses, Namine, not shrunken polyester."

"Well why can't I have a trench coat? Why do I have to wear...have to wear _white_?"

"What is wrong with white?" Zexion ventures, somewhat anxious to see what the blonde will come up with for an answer. He can not recall the last time someone actually gave him a response he had not already predicted. It made for drab conversation.

"If it's such a great color why don't _you_ wear it?"

"It does not compliment my skin tone."

Silence.

"Were you attempting a joke?" Namine questions, on the verge of a smile.

"...perhaps."

"Oh my gosh!" the girl squeals, the voluminous declaration piercing Zexion's very sensitive ear drums. "You tried to make a joke!"

"Don't I receive gratification of some sort? Aren't you supposed to...laugh?"

"Only if it's funny."

At this, Zexion hesitates. "Ah. I see."

"How could you have gone your entire life not _knowing_ all this stuff?"

"Perhaps I simply choose to forget," he counters, averting eye contact, which is an anomaly all on its own, for his gaze is usually piercing and penetrating and reaming all at the same time, regardless of the fact he only utilizes one eye.

"That's stupid," Namine finishes up lamely, sensing the discomfort and not knowing what else to say.

"Ah, yes. And you are the paradigm of intelligence."

A crayon is chucked at the unsuspecting schemer's head.

"You _missed_," he derides.

"I've still got nineteen more," Namine informs him, glaring vehemently. Again, she almost looks like a force to be reckoned with. Almost.

"Where did you say you got the war paint again?"

"...war paint?"

"The stuff adorning your face."

"Makeup?" Namine suggests helpfully. "You dolt. It's called makeup."

"Axel refers to it as war paint."

"Oh please. Axel uses eye liner and we all know it."

Zexion refuses to be taken aback a second time.

"An answer, please."

"I _told_ you, Marluxia."

"You also told me you were kidding."

Zexion does not wait long to begin interrogating. He already has an idea where this problem stemmed from and he is usually correct concerning these matters. Not to say teenage girls are of the norm for him, but when he develops a hunch he follows it, usually to affirming results.

"What did Larxene say to you? Did she give you all this...makeup?"

"...no."

"Do not lie to me Namine. It will not end well."

"She didn't give me the makeup!" Namine insists heatedly. "I stole it!"

At this, Zexion buffers. "You? You stole?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Namine, you can not steal."

"Why not? _You_ all do."

Zexion has no ready remark for that last proposition, so he immediately tries to change the subject. "When were you left alone?"

"I'm not telling."

Zexion hangs his head in a slight form of defeat—the only he will ever show, but Namine is unaware of this—and inwardly heaves a mental sigh. "Of course not," he mutters.

"Besides, I think I look good."

Zexion, deeming words over rated, simply opts to stare dully at his prisoner.

"And is this _your_ attempt at a joke?"

"I'm not trying to be funny!" she insists, charcoal rimmed eyes bulging respectively in their sockets. "I think I look good and I don't need your approval! So there!"

At this, she sticks her tongue out.

"Again with the tongue," Zexion mutters. "Always with the tongue."

He momentarily thinks about threatening to cut it off, but he doubts she would believe him. And besides, he has nothing to cut her tongue _with_.

Namine's brow furrows in a way that says she's done being the flaxen haired, corn fed good girl. Zexion senses there is some hidden agenda at play here, and he does not know why Namine will not come right out and say it.

"I wanna wear black," she declares.

"You're a prisoner, you have no wants."

Namine pauses, and then begins to smile coyly.

"I'll erase your memory."

Zexion finds himself startled, startled beyond any semblance of a response, perhaps for the first time in his afterlife, for Namine is not supposed to be aware of her powers. _Not_ _yet_.

He feels the color from his already pasty complexion drain from his face and seep out through his toes. It is then he realizes that he is not simply dealing with an average teenager girl with rampaging hormones and a desperate desire to be seen as a woman, he's dealing with a emotionally starved ingénue beginning to step out of her realm of innocence and become aware that she is kept for a _reason_ and is kept for a _purpose_ and there are a whole plethora of powers at bay she has yet to take advantage of.

She's finally turning into the slumbering giant they've all been waiting for, there is finally a _reason_ to keep an eye on her. She is now the force to be reckoned with, and while Zexion had always had an inkling of the notion reeling in the far recesses of his mind, only now has it been brought to his attention. And only now has he been forced to confront the matter head on.

"And when did you discover you were capable of...this?"

"Axel was making fun of me again," she tries to answer with an air of confidence, but there are insecurities forming behind her eyes and Zexion knows this. "I said something stupid, and he just kept laughing and laughing and laughing and he wouldn't _stop_. And so I drew a picture." She pauses. "And he finally stopped." She looks down at her sketchbook with new admiration. "You shouldn't make fun of me," she warns, locking eyes with Zexion, and if he weren't so practiced in the art of apathetic responses, he may have shivered.

"I don't," he replies.

Namine goes back to swinging her feet above the marble.

"Which is why I've left you alone," she chirps, back to lolly pops and dandelions and sunshine.

Zexion shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

"Yes Namine, but you need to leave everyone alone. Not just me."

"Why?"

Zexion readies himself to say, 'because I said so' but that answer no longer holds any weight.

"Because I asked you to."

And perhaps that answer does.

Namine picks up on a twinge of something she is unfamiliar with radiating from Zexion's words. She can't quite put her finger on it, but she knows better than to ignore it.

She locks eyes with him again, and Zexion can't recall when she's made this much eye contact in a day let alone an hour.

"...Get me a new trench coat," she surrenders. "Get me something that's not white and I'll think about it."

The schemer can not believe it's come back to this.

"Not this again, child," he moans, which is a first, because he rarely lets anything get on his nerves.

"What?" Namine asks. "I'm tired of white."

And how can she go from brain washing to wardrobe preferences all in a matter of seconds? Zexion determines then and there he will never fully understand the inner workings of the female mind. He also determines then and there that Namine does not fully understand what she is capable of. For if she did, outfits would be the last thing in her thoughts.

Though she does seem to understand the leverage she has now. This would be inconvenient to say the least.

"I don't _want_ you to stop wearing white."

Namine's face scrunches up like a washboard.

"What? Why?"

"Because..." Zexion falters. Words, words. Where are the words? "Black is what _we_ wear. And we're...we're the bad guys."

The girl is not convinced.

"Well maybe I want to be a bad guy, too."

And Zexion recognizes the danger in this. The danger of mutiny and the danger of sabotage. If Namine does not keep her conscious and her integrity then she will not keep her sketchbook free of the Organization. And now that she is aware of what she can do, there really is no stopping her from taking over _their_ take over.

But also, Zexion does not want to lose the one bright spot he has left.

And he can not figure out which side would be best to run with. Or which side would be worse to admit to.

"You strive to be like Larxene, then?"

"_What_?" The eyes bulge again, and they go from being hockey pucks to marshmallows in a matter of seconds. "I don't want to be like Larxene!"

"Well you certainly seem to want to dress like her."

"But that doesn't mean I want to _be_ her!"

"She is a bad guy, you are aware of this."

Namine pauses. She hates him for his logic and she hates him for his mind games and she hates him for always _being right_.

"You don't want to be a bad guy," he continues. "You just want to reap the social ramifications of the cosmetic attitude."

"...what?"

Again; too many words, too much makeup.

"You just want to grow up," he finally bursts forth with. And who can blame her? Normal girls get to swim in the ocean and dance on the sand and watch the sun sink into the waves and wish upon stars and daydream in palm trees. Namine gets to sit in a room with a sketchbook and an ever rotating cast of villainous miscreants. Of them the only female role model being that of Larxene. And where _was_ she supposed to get her cues from?

Namine, at a loss of words, reverts to once again gracing him with her tongue.

Zexion's mind snaps and in an instant he is in front of the girl, quicker than lightening and quicker than sound, for he _does_ undergo copious amounts of fighting when not assigned babysitting duty, and has her tongue lodged between his thumb and index.

"Not becoming," he says.

Namine is rendered incapable of speech given her current disposition.

"If you want to grow up, start by keeping your tongue in your mouth."

Unable to reply, the girl nods, dumbfounded.

Zexion is grabbing her tongue. _Zexion is grabbing her tongue_.

Overcome with the hilarity of the entire thing, she starts to giggle uncontrollably, causing Zexion to relinquish his grip instantaneously.

"You salivated on me," he all but pouts, and this makes Namine laugh all the harder, because when was the last time Zexion pouted over _anything_?

And she's on the floor now, convulsing in fits of hysteria as her face turns eight shades of crimson and she claws at her sides. Eventually she assumes the fetal position, and there are drops of saline making the suicidal plummet down her cheeks. Zexion has never bore witness to such a state of humor, to such a state of _emotion_, and it baffles him like nothing has ever quite baffled him before.

This is not the same girl who is capable of mind sweeping. It is not.

And yet it _is_. Somewhere beneath all that virtue and purity there lies someone capable of wrecking havoc like never before. And right now she is painted up like a porcelain doll wearing a dress three sizes to small and hyperventilating at his feet.

And he doesn't know what to do with her.

She's intriguing yet confusing all at the same time, and it's the first thing in years Zexion can't quite get his head around.

"Wipe off the makeup and I'll see what I can do."

Namine barely hears him over her string of unprecedented chortling, and logically speaking she probably shouldn't have, but teenagers seem to have a way with selective hearing. At least this one does.

"Re-really?" she coughs out, climbing back onto her chair and trying to gasp in enough oxygen to suffice for a small third world nation. "You mean, you'll get me a new outfit?"

Zexion already knows he won't but he nods his head anyway.

Lying is a requirement, not a choice.

And he doesn't feel bad about it. He can't feel bad about. He's _incapable_ of feeling bad about it. Isn't he?

"Oh! Thank you Zexy!"

And now she's hugging him, and this is even more awkward than the laughter. But the most awkward thing of all is Zexion almost goes to hug her back.

He stops himself, of course. But still.

The instinct was there, and that counts for something, doesn't it?

"Release me," he mutters. Namine squeezes him harder. "I said let go, child." Harder. "Namine, I will whip you with your own entrails. Get off of me this instant."

Under threat of disembowelment, any girl is liable to listen. Namine is no exception.

The door clamors to life and Zexion finds himself thanking every deity he has ever heard of for allowing him the insight to detach himself from Namine. Because that's all the others need to see. Him. Hugging the captive.

"Bathroom," he says, and points in case the makeup has gone to her head and she has somehow magically forgotten where the sink was located. "Now."

Namine grumbles something about thinking she looks _mature_, but nonetheless listens under the promise of a new wardrobe.

It will never happen, but they do not call him the schemer for nothing.

Saix enters, flips his hair over his shoulder in passing, and diligently resumes Zexion's previous position in the middle of the room.

Perhaps the makeup came from him.

The man shoves the thought from his mind, for he would rather not think of where the war paint originated from, for there are simply too many options.

He doesn't bother with saying goodbye, for he feels the tradition unnecessary and cumbersome, and makes his way down the hall to Xemnas' quarters, which are characteristically shut off by two massive mahogany doors—there more for dramatic effect than privacy. No one approaches The Superior's presence unless they absolutely have to, and to lock them out is overkill when they would all most likely donate a kidney to avoid confrontation in the first place.

Zexion readies himself for a knock, but then stops.

He should inform Xemnas of Namine's newly recognized powers. He should. But he doesn't like to think of what it will entail. Would The Superior lock her up with himself? Would he assign Marluxia, that incessant flowerly prat that insists on calling her worthless, to permanent duty given his blatant favoritism? Would he no longer be able to see her?

And so he refrains.

Logically speaking, he shouldn't have, and perhaps this is the first time he has ever recognized the correct path and refrained from taking it.

He is trotting where he shouldn't and making decisions that do not fall under his reign of duty, but he decides that he simply does not care.

He doesn't knock and he doesn't tell and he doesn't think twice about it.

What Xemnas doesn't know won't hurt him.

o-o-o-o-o

Author's Note

This is me trying to weave in at least a small semblance of a plot.

Ha. We'll see how that goes. XP

You guys rock. Thanks for reading!


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